


Eyes On Fire

by bmnugent



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Children, F/M, Family, Infertility, Love, Pregnancy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 09:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmnugent/pseuds/bmnugent
Summary: It's not impossible. At least... not anymore.





	Eyes On Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Witcher fic! Super nervous about posting it, but I wanted to share it! I've read the first two books, Last Wish and Sword of Destiny, and I'm in LOVE with Yennefer and Geralt. (I'll admit, I got like one mission into the video game and decided I need to the read the books first). This piece kind of goes into the idea of Yen and Geralt's infertility. I know there aren't many fics out there that address it, so I wanted to try. *shrugs* I'm sorry for any grammar mistakes and hope you all like it! Also. The title of this work is the song from Blue Foundation, which always reminded me of Yen and Geralt to begin with! :D

She could remember exactly how it had happened. How, despite being one of the most powerful and well known sorceresses in the land, she had been utterly unnerved to ask him a simple question. _‘If only he could read my mind, damnit,’_ she recalled thinking to herself.

It had been a late morning, rain softly and rhythmically falling against the metal tiles of their roof. The constant pattering had nearly sent her drifting off into slumber once again, and it was no help that his body heat kept drawing her in, closer and closer. 

Her head rested on his chest and her long, midnight black hair thrown carelessly over his shoulder. One of her hands tucked between their intertwined bodies, the other resting on his chest, in front of her own face. Her fingers ever so gently traced the outlines of raised skin making up his scars.

She hadn’t need to look for them, able to trace every single battle wound by memory. She knew which ones were only distant memories, and which ones still gave him the occasional nightmare.

The even rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his heartbeat, the sensation of his skin against her own… she knew now, more certain than ever, that she mustn’t be afraid.

His own hand lifted from under the silk sheet, sending it sliding down their bodies and pooling around their hips. His own fingertips, rough and callused from the tiresome grip of his swords and leather reigns, passed featherlight strokes down her spine, starting from the sensitive skin of the back of her neck. She shuddered against him, and his lips curled in satisfaction.

A soft sigh leaves her lips, and he knows he has her. Fingertips trailing up and down her back eventually stop at her neck, travel higher until they reach her raven curls, and begin to comb through the thick mass of hair. She cranes her neck to give him more access to her hair. He twirls soft pieces around his fingers, then pushes through her soft tresses, and gently begins to rake his fingers against her scalp.

“Geralt,” she moans at his touch, feeling herself give in to him completely.

“I can feel you thinking, Yen.” His deep voice is barely above a whisper with the rain splashing about outside the open window. She knows he won’t prod, won’t force her to spill her thoughts, but she must.

“I love Ciri dearly. You know that.” It’s a fact he’s known without a doubt since the moment Yennefer had laid eyes on the little girl. “I’ve given her all the love within my heart that a mother could possibly possess.” She’s leaned herself up onto her elbow, which is pressed into the firm, feather mattress near his ribcage. His hand had since ceased it’s musing in her hair, and has stilled against her neck. “But… I…” She stumbles with the words, with a confession that she wants her own child. He senses her hesitation, and bringing his hand around from her neck, his fingers ever so gently brush against her cheek.

“Tell me.”

“I want a child of my own. _Your_ child.”

Her violet eyes burned into his dark irises. He knew he didn’t have to tell her, didn't want to remind her that it was impossible. As much as he wanted to give her anything and everything in the world, a child of their own flesh and blood, he could not. And it nearly tore him apart.

Regardless of his grim expression, she still looked hopeful, which gave him the impression she was plotting something. She must have read his thoughts, for the gleam in her eyes told him his burning desire to please her had given her all the confirmation she needed.

“It’s not impossible. At least… not anymore,” she said slowly while pushing herself up from the bed with her hands, sliding one shapely leg over his muscular thigh, coming to straddle him. Reaching behind her without taking her eyes off of him, she clutched the silk sheets in both hands and drew it around her shoulders, trying to block the chill sweeping in through the open archway that spilled sparkling streams of rain. His expression remained unchanged, although his hands had fallen to her own thighs, his large hands nearly covering all of her. For the longest time, he said nothing, and despite her efforts, couldn’t read what was going on in his head. 

The only sound she could hear, besides his steady heartbeat, was the pounding raindrops against stone. Thunder sounded off somewhere in the distance.

“I will do anything and everything if the end result is you happy.” 

Seating himself up, he’s face to face with her. She clutches the sheet covering her shoulders tighter to her chest as her eyes run over his telling face. _‘Vulnerable’_ , she thought. _‘I must look so weak and-‘_ No. She would not think that. Mothers were far from vulnerable and weak. But the thought of a child, her and Geralt’s child, a little girl… spitting image of herself with Geralt’s sense of adventure. Or perhaps a little boy, with pale hair and violet eyes, begging for her to teach him magic.  


“Swear on it.” The words leave her lips in a shaky breath. She knew very well there were no Gods or higher power that he believed in, no one for him to swear his promise to. But she wanted to hear it anyway. 

One hand leaves her thigh, coming up to frame the side of her face after pushing back her hair behind her ears, something he rarely did unless they were in the midst of passion. He was never one to initiate displays of affection so abundantly. His pulse or her’s, he didn’t know, but he could feel the blood coursing with his fingers against her cheek.

Off in the distance, where their clothes lay in a pile, with her choker and his medallion perched on top, she could see through the corners of her eyes how his medallion began to quiver on top of the garments, how her obsidian amulet came to life with a violet glow. 

“I swear.” His words drag her eyes back to his, and the silk sheet forgotten, she touches his face with both of her small, soft hands. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t turn away. “Come here,” he mutters, sliding his rough hands around her bare hips, pushing her forward on his lap.

Their bodies meet in the most intimate of ways, and she kisses him. Her lips are soft, slow moving against his, until she parts them and slides her pink tongue out to duel with his own. He responds to their kiss almost instantly, intoxicated by her very presence.

Thunder crashes outside of their window. 

With one hand supporting her under her arm, and the other hooked beneath her thigh, he lifts her effortlessly up, against his own body until she’s positioned right where he wants her. She’s suspended above him, head tilted down to stare into his dark eyes… eyes that are on fire, as she allows him to lower her body. Foreheads pressed together, her mouth opens in a breathless sigh as she feels herself stretching to accommodate him. 

She forces herself to keep her eyes open, finding nothing but love and admiration staring back at her. 

—

That had been nearly two moons before, she recalls, as she stands about their room. Organizing her many flagons, books, potions, trinkets… she stops her tidying, her hands slowing to a stand still when the reflection of her amulet in the mirror appears. The diamonds embedded in the stone sparkle brilliantly, and her fingers gently draw up to the stone. 

The cool orb vibrates in her hand, and she’s thrown back into that one, fateful night. Watching herself and Geralt, almost intrusively. She feels her cheeks fill with warmth as she watches her own head being thrown back, her black curls cascading down her pale back, his hands tracing the curves of her body, the rhythmic motion of her riding him, how he swiftly changes their positions and affectionally lays her back onto their bed.

Thunder crashed in the distance, and she lets go of the trembling amulet, thrown back into her stance in front of her small mirrored table. A wisp of breath leaves her forcefully, and she has to reach out to steady herself against the dark wooden table with shaky hands. Lowering her head, she closes her eyes and breathes through her nose, steadily. Apparitions had always exhausted her energy, this one being no exception.

Silence. Long, unnerving silence…. and then…

She hears it. 

Soft, like the fluttering of butterfly wings. But there, nonetheless.

Eyes enlarged, lips suddenly pale and parted, her own heartbeat races.

 _‘Concentrate,’_ she scolds herself, closing her eyes once more in a haste. Blocking out any other bothersome noises, she stills with her head slightly thrown back, one hand cupping what small belly she has.

_Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum_

She recognizes this beat all too well, knowing it as her own. But ever so lightly, there’s a second, more rapid beat that she can barely make out.

It almost feels as if the organ in question had swelled inside of her throat, and despite the overwhelming happiness, she feels a hot tear burn a trail down her cheek.

—

He retires into their quarters once the sun is well hidden. Only a few candles illuminate their room, but he spots her by the open window. Stunning, is the only word that comes to mind. The sluggish breeze courses through the window, pushing the thin silk of her nightgown amidst her body. It’s cut short, stops dangerously high on her thighs, and trimmed with a delicate, expensive lace. He can smell the lilac and gooseberries from where he stands across the room. 

He stills in the doorway, slowly unbuckling the leather belt around his waist, and letting it slowly, quietly fall against a chair in the corner of the room. 

“Listen,” is all she says, not turning around to face him. It takes a moment’s pass, but she feels him behind her, close against her back. He smells of sweat and grass, but it’s comforting and she allows herself to close her eyes upon feeling his chest press against her back.

His hands press into her hips, to still her against him. And he listens.

It takes him longer, just a bit, but he hears it. 

Hears her heart beating.

Hears his heart beating.

Hears his child’s heart beating.

He had reacted in exactly the same manner, a gush of air leaving his lungs and rendering him breathless, fingers trembling against her sharp hip bones. Her smile returned, and as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, nuzzling her pulse with his lips, she feels complete. For the first time in her life.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope it wasn't too brutal to read! Comment and let me know if you enjoyed! I would really appreciate it! :)


End file.
